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by StilesInTheGlade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Floof, M/M, Prompt Fill?, SLEEPY STILES WITH A POPTART IN HIS MOUTH, schmoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesInTheGlade/pseuds/StilesInTheGlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can't go to The Pack for Christmas so The Pack comes to Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from Tumblr because WRITERS BLOCK IS EVIL

Considering that Stiles had been away for almost six months it was well and truly _astounding_ that Derek had never seen his apartment before. But Stiles was always coming back to Beacon Hills, for every long weekend and even for Halloween (and that one time that he convinced everyone to go and see the Venice Beach Freak Show, _why_ he wanted to see people do ridiculously dangerous things when they did shit worse than swallowing swords every other Tuesday was _beyon_ _d_ Derek’s comprehension) and basically Derek had never had a reason to drive the four hours to Lincoln  Culinary Institute, because just as soon as missing the kid became a complete problem, incurable by a very long conversation via Skype that only ended when one or both of them fell asleep, Stiles was coming home.

But Christmas, it appeared, wasn’t the all holy holiday that it was in high school once one became an employee in the hospitality industry. Because Stiles had to work all of Christmas break, Christmas day included.

Obviously not seeing Stiles wasn’t even an option, they didn’t even think about it (they being the pack, and the newly engaged Sheriff and Melissa) before they were packed and ready to go; Derek, Isaac, and Scott following the Sheriff and Melissa, Lydia catching a plane from Boston, Erica and Boyd driving down from LA (where they had met Jackson at LAX the previous morning when he’d flown in from London).

They may have forgotten to mention it to Stiles, however, as proven when a very sleepy Stiles opened the door. Still in loose pajama bottoms, hair in complete disarray, with a Strawberry Pop-Tart sticking out of his mouth.

"Charming, Stiles. Absolutely Charming." Derek sighed, tugging the pop-tart from his boyfriend’s mouth and stepping into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. "And you may want to put on some clothes. I’d guess you have about an hour and a half to get yourself presentable before the rest of the pack gets here."

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “Rojfowe ohhh daaa -” He paused to swallow the bite of Pop-Tart still in his mouth. “Rest of the pack?”

"Merry Christmas." Derek glanced around. It wasn’t a huge apartment, and Derek doubted it was big enough for the four people Collegiate housing had shoved in there, but it was nice. There was a washer and drying. Full kitchen. Living room. Two bed, two bath. Beige carpet that was barely visible in the living room because it was covered with half folded, half balled up laundry, pillows, blankets and stuffed animals. 

"They let me come in a little early because, and I quote, ‘We are gross when we _haven’t_ just not seen each other for like a month.’” He smiled. “Apparently they think we’ll have enough time to catch up while they go and get lunch.”

Stiles, for his part, couldn’t form words; partly from the fact that _holyshitthepackisherewhatthefucki’dresignedmyselftotakeoutonChristmas_ , and partly from Derek’s smile, which had always managed to leave him completely breathless.

"Stiles?"

"Holyshityou’rehere!" And there was the reaction Derek had been expecting. The tackling, the hugging, and the hysterical laughter,

Better.

Derek’s arms came up to wrap around Stiles’ shoulders and he pressed a kiss to the mop of hair. “You look like a porcupine, Stiles, when was the last time you had a hair cut?”

"Moment. We are having a moment. You are ruining the moment we are having with expert moment ruiner skills."

"Sorry."

Stiles is pretty sure that his entire family (pack _is_ family) was absolutely positive that the entire two hours spent between Derek’s arrival and theirs was spent with the aforementioned werewolf screwing Stiles into the mattress.

Which was completely false.

Only about an hour was.

The other hour was spent cuddled up on the sofa, the very picture of domesticity, while they watched Supernatural and finished that pack of Pop-Tarts that Stiles had forgotten on the counter.

"So, where are your roommates?" Derek asked, noting the second bedroom with the door wide open and the evidence of hurried packing strewn about the floor.

"Home for the holidays." Stiles smothered a yawn against Derek’s rippling pectoral.

Derek leaned back to stare down at Stiles’ face where he had it smooshed into Derek’s chest. “What were you planning on doing if we hadn’t of decided to come and visit? Get Chinese take-out and watch bad Hallmark movies?”

"Ew, no. I was going to get Chinese take-out and watch The Grinch."

"You’re unbelievable."

"You’re perfect." And holyshit had Derek missed the dopey grin Stiles always donned when he said something particularly schmoopy.

Of course the pack would choose to finish lunch and venture over to _La Casa De Los Stiles_ sometime in the middle of The Great Sofa Makeout of 2013… so Stiles and Derek were answering the door with mussed hair, wrinkled clothes, swollen lips, and one particularly impressive hickey directly over the swell of Stiles’ Adams apple.

The Sheriff, fondly called Papa Stillinski by any and all pack members, John by Melissa/Mama McCall, and Sir by a still very wary Derek, just shook his head and straightened the collar of Stiles’ polo. “You could at least _try_ to be discreet.”

"It’s my apartment! And you’re the one who sent Derek in here first so really, this was all your doing. You orchestrated the Marvelous Christening of Stiles’ Dorm Bed _and_ most recently, as in about three minutes ago recent, The Great Sofa Makeout of 2013.”

"Dude." Scott looked wounded. "Thanks for that. Really. I needed to know that my best friend and my… Derek… were just fucking. Really."

There was a murmur of general agreement from Jackson, Isaac, and Boys.

Stiles may have blushed.

Derek may have snickered.

John may have glared at Derek.

The Girls may have rolled their eyes and wandered into the kitchen, only to screech in outrage and demand to know how a  _culinary student_ could possibly survive with nothing in their cabinets except Pop-Tarts, Ramen, and coffee.

Stiles grinned and leaned into Derek’s solid warmth, watching his pack.

Erica sat on the counter, trying to convince Boyd to look in the bins in the fridge in what everyone knew was nothing more than a scheme to get his ass on display.

Melissa and his dad poked around the living room (“This looks like you live here, Stiles.”).

Lydia and Jackson perused the bookshelf in the corner (“Cookbook, cookbook, cookbook, who the fuck is reading 50 Shades? Stiles, I know you have better taste than this!).

Isaac, Scott, and Allison had found Dorian, the gray tabby that they technically weren’t supposed to have in the apartment, and were trying to coax him out from his nest of Stiles’ shirts had had stashed under the sofa.

Suddenly his apartment wasn’t just his apartment.

Suddenly, his apartment was a little more like _Home_.

"Thanks for this." Stiles looked up at Derek from under the dark smudge of his long eyelashes.

"How do you know I’m the one who put all of this together?"

"Because I know you." Stiles tilted his head up to press a kiss to Derek’s jaw."I kinda love you, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah I know."


End file.
